A mystic falchion, and, "It shall wend hard
With him thro' thee, unconquerable blade,
Whoe'er he be, who on my Queen hath laid
Stress of unworship: and the hours as slow
As palsied hours in Purgatory go
For those unmassed, till I have slain this foe!
My purse, sweet page; and now—to her who gave,
Dispatch! and this:—to all commands—her slave,
To death obedient. In love or war
Her love to make me all the warrior.